Don't Do Sadness
by Kendarrr
Summary: It must be nice to be free. It must be nice to not do sadness, to just not care. Sequel to And Then There Were None.


**Oh no, a sequel! I hope to goodness that this is up to par for you guys... And I like the ending, okay? It's staying like that. Unless I get sparks of genius coming out of my fingertips, who knows then. But. Here it is. The sequel to And Then There Were None.**

* * *

You haven't been drunk ever since that night. That night when you met the entire William McKinley High School Glee Club. That night when you felt like a normal teenager with your partying, the drinking and the games. That night when you played spin the bottle. That night when you made out with a girl. That night when you fell in love.

With Rachel Berry.

And now you sat in the comfort of your own room, grateful for your mild acquaintance with that boy named Noah Puckerman who supplied you with the alcohol you now grasped in your fist.

Sip after sip, you felt yourself fall deeper into the spiralling abyss of your affections for Rachel. You replayed the kiss between her and the freakishly-tall tower, the pathetic excuse of a boyfriend who treated her with hostility for the past few weeks. Who did she seek for comfort? That's right. _**You**_. She called you on days when he was particularly douche-y. Where was Finn then? Dating other cheerleaders? Making out with them?

Making Rachel feel as if she's not worth it?

You slammed the beer bottle against your desk in disgust. You're not drinking to forget. If anything, you are drinking to remember it all. The wrenching in your gut, the explosions of a broken heart in your chest and the way her eyes looked sympathetic. As if she knew what you were feeling right at that moment.

If she did, then why did she carry on as if you weren't there?

A sob wracked your frame and you choked against the amber liquid. You ran to the washroom and drained the bottle of its contents. You don't need alcohol to remember the pain.

You don't need to remember when it never left your veins.

* * *

You were drained and it showed in your daily actions. There was no longer a spring in your step, no more twinkle in your eye. You no longer met up with Kurt and Mercedes and in extension, you no longer met up with Rachel. You buried yourself in your studies, your singing and your other friends that weren't Kurt. You were drained of life; of love.

But you are young. Why are you so sad?

Gripped in your fist was your post-rehearsal medium drip. You relished in its bitterness, chuckling at the irony each time. The seasons finally changed from false spring to the threatening heat of the Lima summer sun.

Sleeves rolled up against your elbows, you sipped your coffee. You had Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, your favourite Pablo Neruda poem collection against your lap. You read.

"Blaine?"

The all too familiar hymn of her voice, it haunts you to this day. However, you were better than whiny teenager. You could fake emotions; you could fake your smiles. And that was what you did.

"Rachel! It's lovely to see you!" You stood up and offered your seat for her. She smiled and tucked a lock of her brunette hair behind her ear. You're okay. You're going to be relaxed and you won't allow her to destroy these walls that you built around your heart in order to protect yourself from her sentry gun.

"How have you been?" She asked. Small-talk, you figured.

"Rather well, thanks for asking." You answered as a bout of proper social etiquette. "I have been training my voice for the upcoming Regionals, and in turn, to win Nationals."

Rachel grinned. "Only if you beat us, which I doubt that you will."

"Doubt it I don't." You replied.

A blanket of silence covered the bubble that you are forced to endure with her. You drank your coffee, thinking of topics that never concerned the girl in front of you. But alas, she shattered the silence with her curious-filled tone.

"Have you been avoiding me?"

_Yes. A million times, yes. And I can't bring myself to hate you for destroying my efforts_ you screamed in your head. "No, of course not! Don't be silly. I've been busy. Please don't take it personally."

"Then how come Kurt has time for me and you don't?" She demanded.

"Unlike Kurt, I have a part-time job."

"Kurt said that you're avoiding him too."

"That's ridiculous."

"Why aren't you with him right now?"

"For god's sake, Rachel. Kurt and I are not conjoined at the hip!" You hissed, slamming your now empty coffee cup against the table. She jumped at your sudden anger, and you immediately dropped your gaze.

"I'm sorry." Rachel mumbled something she only does whenever she is nervous. "He told me what happened between you two. He told me… That you broke up with him for me. Her doe eyes engulfed you in its shimmering beauty. "Why would you do something like that?"

"Because I was in love with you." _I still am but you don't have to know that._

She blinked with the fastidious rhythm of an escaping butterfly. That's when you took in the image of her. Her physical representation—something that you missed these past few weeks—took your soul away, only to return in your body like fire and flame. Her features haven't changed, but the way she affected you did. She no longer set your heart on fire. She no longer drove your mind insane with want. She no longer held your heart in her hand.

At least, it wasn't pieced together. She has the remnants, you have the larger shards.

"You 'were' which means you no longer do?" She asked. She sounded hopeful, and it stung. She doesn't want you in love with her. She doesn't want you in love. She doesn't want you.

"Yes."

You are such a liar.

* * *

You were forced back into the loop as Rachel Berry's other gay friend. You sat by the sidelines as she talked about song selections, movies airing at the Revival Theatre, and Finn.

_Finn._ His name made your blood curdle with annoyance. Whenever Rachel talked about Finn, it had something to do with her insecurities. Do you think he's thinking of me? Do you think he loves me?

_I don't know about him, but I am, I do._ "I'm sure he does, Rachel" was always your reply.

Do you have any idea what you're doing? You're merely reassuring her with lies that you don't know the truth to. You are being subjective. You want her for yourself, but you can't have her. Not anymore, not ever.

You can't deal with Rachel and her wishful thinking about Finn, so you dealt with it the only way you knew how.

You began avoiding her again.

Your excuses consisted of Warbler practice, side jobs, visiting family and school work. For a short time, it appeared to work until one night. One night, when you reasoned that you have a date with the cute boy from the music store when in truth you are in your room, watching Friends reruns, playing with jigsaw puzzles and blasting Disney soundtracks.

A knock blasted from the door and you jumped up from your bed. You paused the TiVo and dropped the volume down.

"Come in!"

Rachel.

"I thought you had a date." She demanded. She seemed to do that a lot when she's with you.

"I lied." You shrugged. "And if you thought that I was, then what the hell are you doing here?"

"Why would you lie?" Rachel spat, entering your room fully. You watched her eyes dart from the Quidditch poster, to the shelf brimming with books, to the floor where puzzle pieces were scattered. Rachel's gaze then became transfixed on you and your position on your bed.

"Why would you lie?" She repeated, softly this time.

"I'm tired." You responded, trying your best to not tremble and shake. "I'm tired of having you in my life as if it's not a big deal. Guess what, Rachel. You're a big deal to me."

Rachel flinched as she took refuge on your swivel chair. You glared at her. This is your kingdom. There is no way in hell that you would hide away with your tail in between your legs. Within these four walls, you are the king, and she was the queen of some distant land.

A taken queen. A queen with her own king.

"Why didn't you tell me this?" Rachel inquired, flipping through my Literature textbook with a downcast frown marring her pointed nose. "I would've understood."

You didn't mean to laugh but you did. Your stomach erupted with boisterous laughter that tears escaped your eyelids. "No, you wouldn't have."

"You don't know that!" She argued.

"Oh but I do." You replied in a tender murmur. "If I told you that I was still in love with you that day in the coffee shop, what is it that you would've done?" You didn't allow her to speak. "You would've left. You would've picked up your soy latte and bade a silent farewell. You don't want me falling for you because you believe that Finn is your leading man." You looked up from your palms that were decorated with your past and pathways toward redemption. "You want him too much that you refuse to see that there are others that can treat you better than him."

Rachel sat, hands poised on top of her knees. Her bottom lip was quivering as she breathed out in waves. "You would know about that."

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You want me too much that you refused to look at Kurt. He was good for you, but you threw him away like a piece of sheet music that you don't need anymore." She glared at you. "You were so entranced with the possibility of being normal—being straight—that you didn't embrace the one person that was eager to accept you for who you truly are."

"And what is that, Rachel?" You said through gritted teeth. You can't lash out. You can't explode. "Who am I? You seem to know me better than I do. Pray tell. Tell me who I am."

She shrunk in the chair and she gulped. "You're gay, Blaine."

You chuckled without humour. "You think you're open-minded with your two gay dads and your foray with other girls, but it's clear that you're not. Just because I _once_ identified to be gay doesn't mean that that can't change. And I don't mean that if you're gay you can like the opposite sex just like that." You snapped your fingers, and she jumped at the small noise. "All I'm saying is that… Nothing is set in stone."

There it was: the silence that engulfed your ears. Whenever the silence was shared with Rachel, you hear everything. Your brain refused to stop talking. You felt like drowning.

"I'm not in love with you." Rachel blurted out.

You knew that, but that doesn't mean that the quality of the human voice, particularly hers, would make it sting any less.

"Did you think that I don't know that?" You said with a tight smile. "Did you think that I'm avoiding you because I don't like you? Or that I say that I'm busy because I don't want to see your face? You're wrong." Ah, the virulent sting of heat against your eyelids finally appeared. "You're wrong, because I know that. In fact, that's the only thing that I'm sure of."

That she is not in love with you.

Rachel looked terrified when she saw the beads of your sorrow falling down your cheeks. You wiped them away, but you can't help but wish; wish that wiping your sadness away is that simple.

"I love you," you whispered in the dark tonight, the only source of light was from your dim lamp by your desk. "I don't know why, but I do know that I can't do this anymore." A laugh escaped your lungs, and Rachel was taken aback. "If only it were that easy."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry for being selfish and forceful—"

"Don't apologize to me." You hissed. "Don't apologize and expect me to bounce back and be friends with you again. And don't look at me like that!" You were being strangled by her gaze that seemed to be so… concerned for you. But you know that she wasn't. "Don't look at me like you care! Maybe you do! But… not in the way I need you to."

"Rachel," you utter her name—for the final time, you hope. "Please… Please leave me alone."

A whimper escaped her lips and you knew that you were gone.

Gone, not from the gripes of love unrequited, but gone from the throes of wishful thinking. You watched her pick up her purse and her jacket, only to throw a lasting glance towards you.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

She's gone from your room but not from your bloodstream. You hate her for lasting for so long that you don't remember how it's like to be free of her. Her smell, her shining aura, her voice. Everything about her claws against your lungs, your back, your throat. You can't rid yourself of her, no matter how hard you try.

It must be nice to be free. It must be nice to not do sadness, to just not care.

Surely you will tell us all about it when it's no longer the case.

But for now, you sat on your bed, toes peeking out from your duvet. Instead of Disney songs, what came out of your speakers were songs from your 'teen angst' playlist.

_I don't do sadness_

_So been there._

_Don't do sadness_

_Just don't care.

* * *

_

**AH. Please don't shoot me with your photon cannons! Instead, direct your anger (or your sorrow, who knows) towards the Review button :)**


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